


At Liberty

by kaasknot



Series: The Great A/B/O Fest of 2k15 [2]
Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Alpha!Steve, F/M, First Time, For a given value of bottoming, Light D/s, Omega!Peggy, POV Bottoms, a/b/o dynamics, bottom!Steve
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-31
Updated: 2015-01-31
Packaged: 2018-03-09 18:32:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,270
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3259991
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kaasknot/pseuds/kaasknot
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Steve's mind whirls. It's too late for suppressants. If she wants to go somewhere safe she'll have to walk through not only the SSR halls but the wider halls of the War Room, broadcasting her heat the whole way. Her reputation will collapse, whether she wills it or not; no one will take an omega agent seriously.</p><p>He comes to a decision, and carefully shuts the door. Peggy frowns at him, and he gets down on his knees. He's flying by the seat of his pants, running on instinct; the fact that his johnson's starting to take interest only makes him more nervous.</p><p>"Ma'am," he says. "What are your orders?"</p>
            </blockquote>





	At Liberty

**Author's Note:**

> Sweet Jesus give me more of these beautiful people fucking each other blind. (Note: this is not a sequel to Fight or Fuck. You do not have to read that to appreciate At Liberty.)

The SSR headquarters in London shares space with the Cabinet War Rooms, albeit in the deeper, less-accesible passages, and when Steve goes looking for Peggy he almost misses her, hidden as she is by the shadows cast by forgotten file cabinets, piled furniture, and the single, naked bulb overhead.

Peggy Carter is the strongest, boldest, calmest woman Steve knows. He has never seen her with a hair out of place, or without her uniform impeccably pressed or her makeup flawlessly applied. He has seen her in the midst of a shootout, and even with bullets flying past her head she never once faltered or showed fear.

Objectively he understands it's a mask the same as Captain America, but he still finds himself wrong-footed when he finds her, hunched in a chair in that poky back-office under London's streets, with her arms wrapped around herself and the acrid scent of fear wafting through the air.

"Peggy?" He takes a step forward. Her head jerks up, and her eyes, when she spots him, show dawning panic.

"Steve," she says. "What are you doing here?"

"Looking for you," he says. "I'm at liberty, I was wondering if... If maybe..." He had thought to ask her dancing. The memory of her red dress lingers tantalizing in his memory, a sharp compliment to the red of her lips, to--he cuts himself off before he starts composing a saccharine schoolboy's ode, and he inhales deeply. Then he does again, because there's something... something dark and musky... His eyes widen.

A crooked, bitter little smile twists Peggy's red lips.

Suppressants are new, as new as Penicillin, and just as invaluable to the war effort. Steve hates the stack of horse-pills he has to take each morning, but he keeps taking them, because it keeps his scent from carrying on covert ops. All soldiers are issued them in their rations. Agents and operatives, as well, including Peggy. He had always assumed she was a beta, if not an alpha like himself; it just wasn't something you could ask. He had hoped she was a beta, because if she was an alpha they--they wouldn't be able to--Steve'd hoped Peggy was a beta, is all.

But it isn't the scent of a beta he smells, now, nor an alpha. It's the pre-heat pheromone rush of an un-suppressed omega, and Steve feels his heart-rate pick up despite himself.

"Sorry, I can--" he makes to back out, give her some privacy. His mind is whirling.

She surges to her feet. "Wait."

He freezes, his fingers clenching so hard on the doorknob he thinks they'll leave marks.

She doesn't move any closer, and the uncertainty in her stance sets him on edge more than her scent. "Steve. I feel I should explain--"

"You don't have to explain anything--"

"Nevertheless." Her face is set and resolute. "I wish to explain the subterfuge."

Steve is shaking his head before she finishes the sentence. "No, ma'am," he says. "We take suppressants for a reason. It isn't my business to know. You don't owe me anything."

"But I'm an omega." Her eyes were sharp, measuring.

"And I'm an alpha." He shrugs awkwardly. "It--it doesn't change anything."

Her eyes turn sad. "Except it does, doesn't it."

Steve stares at the floor. It's not fair, but it's true: there's a belief that omegas can't handle the rigors of a wider life, that they're better kept wedded and locked away, safe and untouched by hard labor that would surely kill them. It's complete bunk to Steve's mind; his own mother was an omega, after all, and she kept them both fed and housed, and _she_ never faltered with supposed omega softness. She was as strong as any other woman right up until the day she died. He wants to reassure Peggy, tell her he's only surprised, not--but by the time all this goes through his mind it's too late, and her eyes have darkened.

"That will be all, Captain," she says, a new, unpleasant distance in her tone.

His mind whirls. It's too late for suppressants. If she wants to go somewhere safe she'll have to walk through not only the SSR halls but the wider halls of the War Room, broadcasting her heat the whole way. Her reputation will collapse, whether she wills it or not; no one will take an omega agent seriously.

He comes to a decision, and carefully shuts the door. Peggy frowns at him, and he gets down on his knees. He's flying by the seat of his pants, running on instinct; the fact that his johnson's starting to take interest only makes him more nervous.

"Ma'am," he says. "What are your orders?"

Peggy stares at him, utterly thunderstruck. "I beg your pardon?"

"You don't have to," he says in a rush. "But it'll take a few hours, and--and I'll bet five bucks the halls'll be empty by then." He can feel his fair Irish skin heating up in a blush, and he rubs his damp palms along his thighs. "I understand if you'd rather not, but ma'am, if you're interested..." he trails off, and he swears his face is burning. He can't quite meet her eyes.

"Good God," she says faintly.

Embarrassment settles behind his eyes, and he closes them. "I--I'm sorry, I can go--"

" _No_." Peggy's voice is half-desperate, half-commanding. Steve's head jerks up; she's looking at him with shocked surprise, but there's something else there, something speculative, and Steve feels his breath shudder out of him. He spreads his knees before he thinks, then flushes some more.

"No," she says again. "It's a very generous offer, Captain." She walks toward him, her grace and poise restored. "I may just take you up on it."

Steve feels a thrill go through him, not unlike the vicious satisfaction he feels when watching the latest HYDRA installation blow sky-high, but it's softer, more yielding. When she reaches out to raise his chin, he goes easily--willingly, even. Her scent swirls around him, and he closes his eyes, taking it in.

"Look at me," she says, and he does. Her gaze is possessive and hot, and he shivers, suddenly aware of the aching weight between his legs. He doesn't know if it's her pheromones or this strange submission, but his skin feels too tight, like when Nora Blakeley gave him his first kiss behind the library in ninth grade.

Peggy shifts her grip and places her thumb over his lower lip, brushing along it light as a feather; Steve can't help the way he parts his lips for her, or the rush of heat that curls down his spine.

"Put your hands behind your back," she says softly, and Steve does, catching one wrist with the other to keep hold. "Very good. Now don't move."

Then her hand is gone, leaving cold in its wake, and Steve gasps, swaying. He turns to look at Peggy; the snap of the door locking is loud in the still air of the bunker. She turns back to him. "I specifically said not to move," she says sternly. She comes up behind him and rests her hand over his throat, pulling him back; he's forced to tense his abs to keep from falling over backwards. Her hand is warm against his own heated skin; she is burning, and the heat-flush is coloring her cheeks beneath her make-up.

"I have no use for a soldier who won't take orders," she says, her voice smooth and dark as velvet. "Clearly you require more training."

"I'm sorry, ma'am," Steve whispers, and jumps when Peggy's hand comes down on his cheek, stinging and fierce. He stares up at her, wide-eyed.

"I didn't give you permission to speak, either," she says, then trails the backs of her fingernails against the welt he feels coming up on his cheek. The lacquer of her nail polish is cool and smooth. He shudders.

"What to do with you," she murmurs. "What to do." Her arousal is sharp in the air, like the smell of the ocean over Brooklyn when the wind blows right. He throbs in his pants, and a pulse of pre-come soaks into his skivvies. His eyes flutter. The world contracts to the brand of her hand against his Adam's apple and the intoxicating scent of their mingling pheromones.

"Stand up," she says, scraping her fingernails over his neck, and it takes Steve a moment to understand, to process what she said, before he's on his feet in one smooth lunge.

"Hmm." She circles to stand before him. "Tell me, Captain. Do you know how to please a woman? Permission to speak freely, of course."

Steve imagines his face is as red as Peggy's lipstick. "Yes, ma'am," he says. "One of the chorus girls, she, um. She took a liking to me."

Peggy snorts. "Only the one?"

"Ma'am?"

She waves it aside. "Take your clothes off, Captain. Fold them there." She points to one of the chairs beside a broad, oversized desk shoved against the wall. Steve ducks his head and shucks off his jacket. He drapes it over the back of the chair, hanging it neatly so it won't wrinkle. He glances up; Peggy's watching, standing with her hands on her hips like she did at Camp Lehigh when she inspected the troops. He licks his lips and plucks at his tie knot. His fingers feel twice as large as usual.

It seems ages before he's standing in the altogether, his cock jutting out from his hips. He forces himself to stand straight. He knows he's something to look at, now, but that doesn't change the fact that any guy's gotta look like a fool, all out in the open like this.

"Dear Lord, you certainly do blush," Peggy says, and that just makes Steve blush worse. It's a curse, is what it is. Bucky gives him shit for it every time.

She saunters over, and when she gets close she runs a hand over Steve's chest. "I'd tell you how marvelous you are--" she glances up at him, "--but I doubt you'd care very much." She trails her fingers down his stomach, over the ripples of his abs, and rests her hand flat on his stomach right above the head of his cock. Steve sways forward, his cock twitching; she's so close he can almost feel it. He bites his tongue to keep from asking.

Peggy tilts her face up, going up on her tip-toes until her lips are so close to his he can feel her breath against his skin. "What did that chorus girl teach you?" she whispers.

There's a buzz of electricity between them, like two poles of a magnet held close together. Lessons from his school days slip in, and Steve thinks, _Any two bodies of sufficient mass, when put in close proximity, will merge together_. He thinks that's how it goes. He has an eidetic memory, but Peggy is so close... "Permission to touch you, ma'am?"

"Permission granted." Peggy's staring at him, and damn him if it doesn't look like a challenge. He meets her, stare for stare, and raises his hand to her hip.

Her name had been Sandy. She'd taught him a lot of things, gasped into the quiet air after the theaters had emptied for the night.

He slips his hand down, taking a handful of her skirt, and slowly draws it up her leg. Peggy's trembling, and he smells her arousal spike when he brushes the bare skin above her stocking.

Steve draws his fingers over to the silk of her panties. He pauses, then slips his finger beneath, and into the slick heat beyond. "She taught me this," he says into the narrow space between their lips.

He rubs that nubbin of flesh, that sensitive knot Sandy had showed him, and watches as Peggy's eyes grow heavy-lidded in pleasure. He strokes and pets, alternating the rhythm until she's clutching at his shoulders. Steve reaches further, hunching down a little to ease the ache against his wrist, and _there_ \--slips a finger into her--her--

Sandy had called it her cunt. Steve doesn't know what he should call it. He crooks his finger, and strokes with his thumb, and Peggy's so on edge, so tightly-wound from her heat, that, with a soft, sighing " _oh_ ," she spasms around his hand and comes.

He helps her through it, easy, gentle strokes, until she grabs his wrist and pulls him away. He's slick with her fluids, the scent of her rising heady in the air.

"Don't pretend I didn't notice your disrespect," Peggy says eventually, her eyes glittering. "Distraction is an admirable tactic, but only in the short term."

"Apologies, _ma'am_ ," Steve says, and he's aware just how insincere it sounds. He can't help his grin.

She narrows her eyes. "Mm. Well. The... debrief comes first. What else did your chorus girl teach you?"

Rather than answer, and feeling somewhat daring, Steve raises his fingers to his lips, the ones soaked from Peggy's body, and sucks them into his mouth. Her mild, salty taste spreads over his tongue, and he gazes at her, heated and promising, as he licks off every hint of it.

"Oh," Peggy breathes, surprised despite herself. "I rather thought you Americans too prudish for that."

Steve shrugs, dropping his hand. "I was, at first."

"What changed?"

He gives a wry grin. "She dared me."

Peggy snorts. "Of course she did."

"Hey, it's lucky for you she did. You wouldn't be benefitting from her good work, otherwise."

"Oh, is that so?" Peggy replies, her eyebrow raising. "Perhaps you need to learn humility, next." She grabs hold of his erection, neglected and throbbing, and squeezes.

Steve's knees buckle. " _Christ_."

"I believe you are forgetting something, Captain."

" _Ma'am_ ," Steve grits out. "Point taken, ma'am, I have a lot to learn."

"First among them," Peggy says, "is patience."

Steve's pretty sure he has that one down, but he doesn't say anything. Peggy's still got her hand on his cock, stroking it gently, teasing the sensitive edge of his knot, and he's no fool.

She smiles fondly. "You must be terrible at poker," she says, and pulls away. "Help me undress, Captain."

Caught by surprise, Steve stares at her.

"You heard me, Captain."

He swallows. "Yes, ma'am." She doesn't move, so he steps closer, and reaches for the buttons on her coat. His eyes flick up to hers, to make sure it's what she wants. Peggy gives a firm nod, and Steve fumbles with the buttons. He's suddenly conscious of his own nakedness. He waits for her to shrug the jacket off, but she merely stares pointedly at him, until the penny drops. Steve ducks his head and steps behind her.

Her hair just brushes her collar, held up by pins. It smells faintly of rose water. He resists the urge to bury his nose in her hair--no doubt it's heavy with her scent--in favor of reaching around to tug the jacket off her shoulders. She lets it fall, pulling her arms out as he pulls it back.

It's... surprisingly intimate, in a way Steve wouldn't have thought. The jacket is warm from her body, and smells of her. He folds it carefully and rests it on the edge of the desk. He thinks he knows, now, where this is going, but he turns his mind from it, and lets himself focus on the present moment, of helping Peggy Carter undress. Tension he hadn't noticed leaches out of him as he picks apart her tie.

All too soon Peggy stands naked before him, save for her stockings and make-up. He heard the chorus girls call it war paint, laughing as they told him of the battlefield of men; he wonders if Peggy sees it the same way.

"Excellently done, Captain," she says. "Thank you."

Like this, without any clothes to bar the flow of her scent, it's almost overwhelming. Steve lets out a ragged breath. The urge to take her and rut swells in him, and he beats it back, searching for that mindless state of being he had settled into while helping her undress.

Peggy, meanwhile, has moved toward the desk, and perches on the edge of it. She spreads her knees to his gaze. "Well?" she demands. "Are you going to assist?"

Her thighs are glistening, damp with the desperation of her heat, and Steve is helpless to fight against it. He's on his knees before her in a heartbeat. He stares at her folds, dusky pink and slippery-wet, and glances up at her for permission.

"Go on," she says, feigning disinterest, but Steve can see the tremble in her thighs, hears the catch in her breath. "We don't actually have all day."

Steve falls forward like a starving man before a banquet. The first taste has him shuddering; the second sends his cock throbbing between his legs. He pulls on everything Sandy taught him: he starts slowly, teasing along the edge of her lips, before following them to their confluence. Peggy's head drops back as he levels a barrage of kitten licks against that knot of flesh. Her thighs draw in around his head; he reaches up to spread her open for his tongue. He gives a broad swipe from the top of her--her cunt--to the top of her folds, and Peggy's nails dig in against his scalp.

"Very good, Captain," she murmurs, her voice languid in the still air.

Steve gives into the urge and fucks his tongue up into her. Sandy had shrugged that off as unremarkable; Steve wonders if maybe Peggy, as an omega, might feel differently. Sure enough, a full-body tremor wracks through her when he licks up against the front wall of her channel.

"Do that again," she says, her hips rocking against his face.

Steve does. He grinds his nose against the nubbin and thrusts his tongue into her body, ignoring the ache that starts in his jaw. He can hold his breath for almost fifteen minutes straight; he uses that now, burying himself in the taste and smell of Peggy's body. Her orgasm passes by in a wave, clenching down on his tongue even as a flood of wetness and scent drenches his skin.

Steve pulls back, panting against her flesh, and she writhes her hips. "We're not done here, Captain," she breathes. "Get back to work."

"Sorry, ma'am," he says. His lips feel heavy, swollen, as though he's been kissing her for hours. His tongue aches. He ducks his head back to her slit, and this time he slips a finger into her.

She gasps, her hands clench in his hair, and Steve bites back a moan. He sways closer, breathing in the smell of sex that pours from her. He slips in another finger, working them deeper, stroking against the soft press of her walls. She drapes a leg over his shoulder, pulling him in; Steve goes, fastening his lips over her nubbin as he slips in a third finger beside the others. He runs the flat of his tongue over that sensitive nub as he hooks his fingers up against the spongy clot of tissue inside her.

Peggy cries out, arching up into his face. Steve tugs her closer with his free hand, riding through the spasms and wishing he could somehow how merge their flesh together. When she finally pushes him back, Steve whimpers. Actually whimpers. He presses his lips together, tasting her on him, and all of a sudden he's aware of the cold touch of the air against his damp skin. He's a mess; his cheeks and chin are slicked with her fluids, and it makes his cock _ache_ from how hard he is. He's pretty sure he's blushing down to his belly button.

Peggy levers herself up, her arms looking spindly as a newborn colt's legs, and cradles Steve into her belly. He goes, panting against her, reveling in the spicy scent of her, trembling against the scrape of her nails against his scalp. "Very well done," she murmurs, and Steve nuzzles into her skin, shuddering with gratitude and embarrassment.

"Go lie down on your back," Peggy says. "Put your hands behind your neck."

Steve goes, already moving before his brain catches up. A part of him hopes Peggy's decided to put him out of his misery, but another, more compelling part tingles with every order--so he makes himself malleable and hopes she'll order him some more.

He lays down. It's cold as a Brooklyn winter. He arches slightly to keep his lower back from touching the concrete, and the backs of his thighs, and the tension only makes his dick throb. He weaves his fingers together behind his neck, half-supporting, half-restraining, and looks up to Peggy.

Even from this unflattering angle she's magnificent. He trails his gaze up the long line of her legs, past the tangle of hair at their confluence, over the soft round of her belly and the heavy swell of her breasts, to her eyes, dark and amused. "Do you like what you see, Captain?"

Steve swallows. "Yes, ma'am."

"Good. Close your eyes. And don't make me use a blindfold; if you peek, I will be very disappointed."

He squeezes his eyes shut. He focuses on the cold press of the floor, the sound of Peggy moving, the heat of her body--

"Wait, wait!" He tenses, fighting the urge to maintain her orders.

"Yes, Captain?" Her voice is cool. Neutral.

Steve can feel himself trying to blush more. "I don't have a condom," he says.

There's a pause. He wonders desperately at Peggy's expression.

Her fingers brush against his cheek. "Thank you for telling me. I, however, do."

Steve's eyes snap open. "You do?"

Peggy's eyes are serious. "It's not safe for me, not to," she says.

"Oh." Steve wishes he could pull the question back. He feels guilty, as though he's responsible for the sometimes unfair ways their bodies work, as though it's his fault some alphas don't care if they risk their omegas. "I'm sorry."

"Don't be," she says, her tone businesslike once more. "Close your eyes, I'm not going to tell you again."

Steve closes them, his breath caught in his throat. He's splayed out before her, hard and vulnerable and completely at her mercy. His skin prickles with awareness. He jumps when she touches him, light over his throat; she traces the tendons in his neck, trailing her nails over his skin and finding the spots that send his pulse racing. He bites his lip.

Her hands run all over his body, tickling, stroking, _maddening_. She tweaks the line of fine hairs bisecting his abdomen; she thumbs his nipples until they're hot and puckered up so far from his chest Steve thinks he could come from that alone. She scratches down his flanks until he's gasping, thirsty for the taste of her hands.

She is merciless. She traces the veins in his arms, the cut of his muscles; she picks out patterns from his freckles and kisses them as she passes. And all the while Steve is getting more and more worked up; he can feel the desperate pulses as his knot searches for resistance; pre-come slicks his cock in maddening trails. And always, through it all, the musky, tantalizing scent of Peggy's heat. She caps it off with a kiss, their first, a light press of the lips, little more than a tease, but it cuts through Steve like a lightning bolt and he arches up to press closer.

"None of that, now," Peggy says, pressing him back with a hand to his chest. "You're doing very well, you know. Don't break your sterling record." 

Suddenly he feels her hands, cool against the inflamed heat of his cock, rolling a condom over him, and he whines before he can hold it back. Her heat is crawling under his skin, plucking at the edges of his mind; he clenches his fingers against the nape of his neck, digs in his fingernails, to hold on just that much longer. " _God_ ," he grates out.

She throws a leg over his hips; he can feel the warmth of her body hovering in the air between them. He forces himself not to rock up, to find her, to fucking _touch_ her. Then it's her cool hand once more, and this time she's tilting his erection back, and Steve shivers, his mouth dropping open as her slick heat envelops the head of his cock.

"Oh, God!"

"Hush, now," she murmurs, and sinks further. He chokes out a strangled gasp; he's almost certain his fingernails have drawn blood.

It's exquisite, and it's torment, because Peggy doesn't settle all the way down until she's stretching over his hardening knot; instead, she bounces experimentally on the upper reach of his shaft, as though testing him out. Steve bites his lip.

What follows slips into a blur of heat and cramping pleasure, cut through with the intoxicating sound of Peggy's voice as she lets out a sigh and comes. Steve's abs tighten at the sensation of her inner walls fluttering around him, at the twitches of her hips as she spasms, and his balls snug up against his body in reply.

"Ma'am, please," he says, and Peggy soothes her hands down his chest and stomach.

"Not quite yet," she replies.

She rides him into two more orgasms, until he's nearly insensate, caught between the heat of her body and the desperate ache in his knot and balls. Satisfaction is so close he can taste it, but Peggy hasn't given permission, yet, and he would sooner cut off his arm than break her trust.

She slips her hands around his elbows and pulls his arms down, guiding his hands to her hips; then she takes him deeper, rocking her hips against his knot, and Steve opens his eyes and stares at her because he can't help himself. She's glorious, she's powerful, her hair in disarray and her lipstick smudged, her neck flushed and corded with effort. "Please," he says, hardly knowing what he's asking.

"Please what?" Peggy whispers back, her voice low and whiskey-rough.

"Can I--" Steve's voice hitches against a pulse of pleasure. "Please, can I touch you, ma'am?"

She lifts a brow then squeezes his hands where they rest on her hips; slowly, uncertainly, he slides them around and up her back, reveling in the hot silk of her skin. He sits up, shifting her seat over him as he does, and asks with his eyes as he bends toward her nipples. She responds with a slight arch in her back, presenting them to him, and he takes them reverently, though he is almost past the ability to suck. He breathes against her breast, his mouth open to capture her scent.

"I--I--"

"Tell me what it is you want, Captain."

Steve lets out a small sob. "I want to knot, please let me knot, Peggy, I don't know if I can hold out much longer."

She pauses for a breathless moment, then sinks down over his knot, giving her answer with a twist of her hips.

Steve loses himself a little bit, after that. He remembers twisting to pin Peggy against the concrete; he remembers the way she arched up into him with a shocked little cry, and the way her hands clawed at his back. He remembers thrusting into her, deep and satisfying, spurred on by the siren-call of her pheromones and the vise-grip of her thighs about his hips. He remembers the tingling swell of his knot, the sparking coils of pleasure up his spine, and the first twitches in his balls that heralded his orgasm. All he remembers after that is white pleasure, static fuzzing through his ears against the force of it.

He comes back to himself slowly, to the sensation of fingers combing through his hair. He jolts in surprise. "Peggy," he says. "Did I hurt you?"

She chuckles, staring up at him with that regal, amused look in her eye. "Don't worry yourself," she says. "I enjoyed it, I promise."

Steve ducks his head as well as he can when he's still buried balls-deep in her body and wrapped in her arms. "Good."

"How are you real?" Peggy says in fond exasperation.

"Ma'am?"

He feels a tremor run through her at the word. "Never mind."

After a moment Steve shifts his weight off her, careful to maneuver her with him, shuddering at the way it tugs against his knot. They end up on their sides, wrapped together without care for where their bodies begin and end. He stares into her eyes, and she stares back into his. Something catches his attention out of the corner of his eye, and Steve freezes at the sight of the red mark on her shoulder. His insides chill.

"Did I..."

She cranes her neck to look. "Oh, no. You didn't mark me. I was impressed, actually; you seemed like you very much wanted to."

"I'm sorry," Steve mumbles, staring down at the outline of his teeth on her smooth shoulder. How close he was, to causing an actual problem for Peggy.

"Stop that," she says, reaching up to tug on his ear. "You didn't even break skin." Her smile turns mischievous. "You know, I don't believe I've ever heard you apologize as much as you have in the past hour."

Steve starts. "Has it really been that long?"

"Thereabouts."

He looks around the storage room. They're still alone, the lock on the door untouched, but the room absolutely reeks of sex. "Won't exactly be a secret, what went on in here," he says.

Peggy runs her hand down his side. "By the time anyone gets here tomorrow, it'll have faded enough to give us some anonymity." She bites her lip.

"I'll need to take leave," she says softly, tracing abstract designs over Steve's skin. "I'll be out of commission for the next two days at least."

"Say it's me," Steve blurts. "Tell them I'm in rut, and that you're helping me out."

She gives him a wry look. "And building your legend?"

Steve blushes.

She takes mercy on him. "It just might work," she says. "When was your last rut?"

"'Bout five months ago."

"Hmm. I presume you ran out of suppressants?"

He gives a sheepish grin. "Bucky was mad enough to spit. He cursed 'til he was blue in the face, said I was a harebrained idiot who couldn't be trusted to tie his own shoes, let alone another person, and that he was a g--was a saint for putting up with me."

Peggy rolls her eyes. "That does sound like Barnes." She's silent for a moment, smoothing her fingers over his chest. "At least there's precedence." She sighs. "Thank you. For doing this for me."

"Anything, Peggy," Steve says, rolling up to his elbow. "I'd do anything you need. You gotta know that."

For a moment she looks overwhelmed, then it vanishes beneath her Agent Carter mask. "That's a conversation for after the war, I think," she says, running her fingers over his shoulder. "In the meantime, thank you."

Steve stifles his twinge of disappointment. She knows what he's offering (he hopes), and he knows why she's backing away. She's right. It can wait 'til after the war.

Peggy rocks her hips against his. "Now, I believe I can get another orgasm out of this heat before your knot goes down," she says. "What do you say?"

Steve presses a hopeful smile to her lips. "I think we can give it a try."

**Author's Note:**

> Come visit me on [tumblr](http://kaasknot.tumblr.com/post/109626652759/at-liberty-kaasknot-captain-america-movies)!


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